


[de]CODE[d]

by Wrongest_Under_Heaven



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2020-10-06 21:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20513771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrongest_Under_Heaven/pseuds/Wrongest_Under_Heaven
Summary: A new Devil Fruit user Montague DuPonte arrives on Dologos Islands and finds the hidden location of the tetraglyphs, an ancient language related to poneglyphs. His unique power allows him to manipulate the ancient carvings and completely erase the tetraglyphs from existence, creating devastating consequences in the world itself. The Straw Hat Pirates, the Navy, and the Buggy and Alvida Alliance all descend on the Dologos Islands for their own purposes and get caught up in an ever escalating conflict. In the chaos old bonds are tested and new connections forged - but can anyone stop DuPonte before he irrevocably shatters the world?





	1. Ash

[de]CODE[d]

**Chapter 1**

“Is that a ship?” Sister Kei asked.

Brother Tilpa looked up from the flowers he had been tending to, furrowing his brow as he looked out to sea. He raised a hand to shade his eyes from the sun, his baggy orange robes sliding down to reveal the wrinkled skin of his arm. His eyes followed Sister Kei’s arm as she pointed out to sea – there, round a rocky outcropped, was the unmistakable white blob of a mainsail.

They stood on a high cliff partway up the side of Mount Dolog, an enormous volcano that loomed over the ring of islands collectively called the Dologos Islands. The stone of the mountainside was blackish gray, making the monks’ orange and yellow robes stand out like lit candles at midnight. Below them were winding footpaths dotted with sparse rugged shrubbery and the occasional opening of a dwelling hewn from the rock. At the base of the island were narrow but fertile jungles, verdant green leaves swaying in the ocean breeze. There was always a smell of salt and solitude in the air.

“Why I believe it is,” he muttered.

“How strange. We’ve not had visitors to the isle in as long as I can remember,” she said. Sister Kei turned to look at her fellow monk, clutching a reed basket of freshly picked berries and herbs in one hand.

“Nor I,”Brother Tilpa confirmed.

“We should notify the elders, they will want to hear of this.”

“Agreed.”

Nearby a wooly toctoca idly chewed at the grassy shrubs growing near the cliff’s edge. Kei and Tilpa placed their baskets on the straps attached to the four-legged animal’s back. It lifted its long wooly neck and snorted _~hrrkha~. _

“There there Alma, we are going back,” Kei told the toctoca, scratching behind its ears affectionately. Alma snorted, apparently placated.

Brother Tilpa put his hands into the large sleeves of his robes and said, “We should get going.” A chill ran down his spine – it was not from the wind. Every moment his eyes rested on the ship the feeling in his gut grew more urgent.

Kei and Tilpa started the trek down the mountain path to the temple with Alma in tow.

The ship sailed closer.

\----------

“A ship you say?” asked Elder Yontil. His voice was equal parts amused and incredulous. “No vessel has been able to navigate past the Titan’s Teeth in over a century,” he continued, running his tongue over the front of his top teeth and scratching his chin in thought.

Elder Eloom leaned forward, her earth-toned robes pooling on the carved stone platform that the elders sat upon. “Are you certain of what you saw?” she asked.

“Yes, Elder Eloom,” Sister Kei replied, bowing her head in reply.

“We both saw it, honored Elders,” Brother Tilpa added, bowing as well.

Elder Yontil chuckled to himself, “Then I suppose we cannot say this sighting was due to the folly of youthful wishing or ageing eyesight.” It was intended as a joke.

No one was laughing.

“A ship, unannounced, arriving near Dologos,” Elder Eloom intoned solemnly.

Her voice echoed in the cavernous chamber. The two lower-ranked monks were kneeling on the floor of the temple. Around them on a raised u-shaped platform were the five Elders, their brown robes and white sashes well-worn from many years of constant wear. Flanking the platform on either side were statues carved from the stone of Mount Dolog itself. One depicted a three-headed, three-eyed seer with arms raised and palms open; the other was a tree whose roots went “in” the cave floor and whose branches blossomed to starry constellations in place of bushy leaves.

Behind them were tetraglyphs – ancient symbols of a language lost to much of the world’s memory – arrayed in erratic patterns. The massive characters were easily the height of a human, carved with unerring precision but in strange orientations. The tetraglyph carvings surrounded all gathered in that room, and they stretched upwards into the spiraling recesses of the cave roof. Presumably, somewhere in the darkness above the glyph carvings stopped, but no matter how far monks of past ages had climbed they could still see glyphs stretching deep into the inky black void.

Many believed that the ancient ones who chiseled the tetraglyphs must have had greater mastery of themselves and their art and were able to ascend to such heights due to perfect self-control. Others whispered that the glyphs had no end – they stretched past the roots of the mountain into the bones of the world, past the top of the peak to the home of the stars. Idle superstition, surely.

Surely.

“It is no sense wondering how they made it this far,” Elder Jalain said, breaking the ominous silence with her calm pragmatism. “We must prepare for their potential arrival. That is, if they even intend to come ashore.”

Elder Eloom perked a brow and replied, “Do you really think the first vessel to cross the Titan’s Teeth uninvited would not seek to come ashore?”

“Point taken,” Elder Jalain replied.

Another silence followed.

Elder Yontil cleared his throat and said, “Then it is settled. We will prepare a welcome party.”

“And if they do not come in peace?” Elder Eloom asked.

“Then,” Elder Yontil replied, crossing his arms. “We do what we must.”

\----------

Anger in wood and metal. Aggression in the shape of a steel trap.

The _Umbrage _was a vicious looking vessel. It was as though a great shark had swam up towards the water’s surface and unhinged its jaw, opening its maw above the water. The bulbous wooden ship was surrounded by rows of jagged metallic “teeth” that ringed it in mismatched patterns. The flag atop its highest point was a jolly roger: a skull with diamond-shaped eyes wearing a wreath and flanked by crossed torches. To call it a galleon would have undersold it immense size. To call it a battleship would have implied symmetry or purpose.

Violence with ballast. Malicious intent with a mainsail.

Two dozen monks stood on the sandy beach, their attention fixated on the_ Umbrage _as it waited offshore. Smaller rafts paddled up bearing a party of the ship’s crew. On one raft it was clear who was in charge – three figures on the center raft stood out among the rest.

The monks waited.

Once the smaller craft were close enough the crew disembarked, wading through knee deep seawater to come ashore. There were roughly as many newcomers as the monks, but they made for a much different sight – red and white striped shirts with black and brown pants, bodies tanned from their time at sea. The looks on their faces were calm but their eyes had a certain hunger that made the monks uneasy, and the weapons the newcomers brandished did nothing to dissuade their fears. The tension was palpable. For a long time no one said anything, the only sounds were the nervous shuffling of the monks’ feet and the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore.

_Kssh_

_Kssh_

_Kssh_

Elder Yontil stepped forward. He cleared his throat and began to speak, projecting his deep voice saying, “Welcome, strangers, to the island of Dolo-“

One of the trio at the center cut him off, “Dologos, yeah yeah we know already old man.” He was short with a greasy head of hair and erratic stubble on his chin. His toothy grin showed four silver fangs.

Yontil gulped audibly. Monks looked nervously at one another.

“Derrrr, uhhhh, this uhhhh all you uhhhhh got on the uhhhhh the island?” asked another of the trio. He was tall and lanky, with a pony tail snaking out from under his tricorn hat. He idly scratched his chin with the pinky of his left hand as he spoke. “I errrrrrr, uhhhh, kinda thought there’d uhhhhh ya know, ummmmm be more stuff.”

Elder Eloom gritted her teeth and wondered: _Just who are these strangers?_

The third member of the trio strode forward. He was sickly thin, but with broad shoulders and long limbs that gave him a gangly appearance. A bicorn hat with four enormous feathers bobbled on his head and the long crimson scarf around his neck dangled so far down it nearly brushed the sand. A huge burn covered the left side of his neck, snaking up to the bottom of his cheek and down past his neckline behind his shirt.

“Now now boys,” he began. His voice was deep and resonant, rumbling out from beneath the waggle of his bushy salt and pepper mustache. “We’re the _guests_ on this island, you understand. We have to be-“ he reached out and patted them both on the shoulders before turning with excruciating, deliberate slowness to lock eyes with Elder Yontil.

“-_civilized.”_

The sickly figure strode forward leaned towards Yontil until they were eye level. “I apologize for my boys there. Beauregard and Montague don’t get much _socializing’_ out on the high seas.” He chuckled – _Hef fah fah fah fah fah fah. _It was a cruel sound. Like the grumbling of a hungry shark’s stomach. Like the rising bubbles of a drowning sailor’s last gasps. “They don’t always know how ta act, _aherm_, around new people. Please accept their apologies.” He motioned to his sons.

“Sorry,” Beauregard said.

“Duuuuuhhhh, sorry,” Montague said.

“That’s better boys. Now, mister uh…”

“Elder. Elder Yontil.”

“Yuntil?”

“_Yon_til.”

“Yontil. Right, s’what I said. Now Mist-“

“Elder.”

“Elder. Elder _YON_til. You seem like the welcoming type and we appreciate your hos-pi-tality.”

Beauregard chuckled. An enormous flying insect landed on Montague’s nose but he did not so much as flinch.

Elder Yontil clenched his teeth. His hands balled into fists inside the sleeves of his robes as he asked, “Who are you? Why have you come here?”

The gangly leader smiled, all teeth and bared gums. “Who am I? Fellows, our dear host Elder Yontil wants to know who I am.”

The rest of the shore team laughed insidiously. Beauregard chuckled louder. The insect on Montague’s nose was draining his blood at an alarming rate, while he smacked his lips in obliviousness.

The leader leaned forward and clasped Yontil’s shoulders. His grip was like a steel trap, sending tremors of pain through the monk’s body. Sweat broke out across Yontil’s brow – the man’s strength was incredible.

“I’m captain Alexander DuPonte, and these fine lads and lasses are my crew,” he said.

Yontil gulped. _DuPonte? Then these are… they’re…_

“You might know us by another name – the Scorched Salt pirates,” Alexander said. He grinned, his lips so dry they were cracked in half a dozen places, his teeth yellowed. “Now that we’ve been _properly _introduced, what do you all say to showing us around the island.” It wasn’t a question.

Yontil, Eloom, Jalain, and the other Elders said nothing. They knew to speak up meant violence. The cutlasses at the pirates’ hips gleamed menacingly.

The monks turned and lead the Scorched Salt pirates up the mountain.

\---------

DuPonte clapped his hands together. The _~pap~ _of his hands echoed through the bones of the mountain, waves of disruptive sound bouncing off the tetraglyphs.

“Yes,” the pirate captain said. He licked his lips, dried blood falling off in flakes, “Oh _yes_.”

Jalain spoke up, “There they are, the tetraglyphs. We’ve overseen their preservation for centuries.” Sweat beaded on her brow.

“You’ve seen them,” Yontil said. He tried to keep his voice steady but his tone was plaintive.

“Now now now, don’t you worry,” DuPonte replied. “I only came to admire them. I won’t leave a mark.”

Alexander DuPonte strode forward, up the ancient stone steps which were carved when the world was young. He strode up to one of the walls, hands still clasped, craning his neck back to peer into the darkness.

Not a sound.

Not a word uttered.

The monks held their breath, uncertain of what was to come next.

“Hey uuuuuuuuh pops what do ya uhhhhhhh whatcha see?” Montague asked.

“Everything,” his father replied. Alexander DuPonte raised his hand to one of the tetraglyphs. He reached up with one hand, running trembling fingers through the carvings. They were unnaturally warm, unnaturally smooth. Veins of the mountain. Blood of the world.

His hand came to rest on a strange five-pronged glyph named _Uul’l._

Jalain raised her hands in defiance. Her voice rang out defiantly, “Stop! We’ve had about enough of this disruption! I don’t know what you came all this way for, but this is a holy place an-“

Montague turned to her, wide split wide in a terrifying smile. It was so unnerving it stopped her cold.

“You’re _right_ of course. This is a holy place,” he said, turning back to the stone walls and running his tongue over his cracked lips. “It is the site of the unravelling.”

“The unrav-“ Eloom began to ask but the entire room shook.

Montague’s Devil Fruit power had activated.

His body trembled, shockwaves of force emanating from his outstretched arm. His veins bulged beneath his already thin skin, crisscrossing spiderwebs of dark blue beneath his flesh. His fingertips began to smoke. A light _sizzzzzzzzzcrcklesszzzzzz _could be heard as the wisps crawled up into the darkness like the smoky tentacles of a newborn kraken. Suddenly the tetraglyph he had his hand on glowed as if lit from behind the stone itself. It was light but pure darkness. It had a glow but lacked color. It was not illuminated so much as it was draining the brightness from the world around it.

~K~R~A~K~O~O~O~O~O~M~

A deafening peal erupted in the cave and knocked all those gathered - save Montague - off their feet. Trembling spasms ran up the spine of the mountain. Blood ran from the monks’ ears.

_Uul’l _vanished into ash. The space where it had been carved before was no more than smooth cave wall now, a river of ash gray silt flowing between Montague’s fingers like a cremated body had been spilled over the back of his hand.

Screams of agony filled the cavern. The monks writhed in pain, the veins on their temples standing up in alarm. Blood ran from their noses, their ears, their mouths, and the corners of their eyes. A few vomited. Many wept though they were not entirely sure what.

“Wh-what d-id y-you do?” Eloom asked, the first to gather enough strength to from a sentence.

Montague faced the quaking monks. He walked to the edge of the platform and said, “I have begun the great work: the ending of this world, and every one of these accursed glyphs.” He raised the hand that had destroyed – no, erased – _Uul’l_.

“And I am only getting started,” he said, punctuating his words by blowing the dust off his hand. His booming _Hef fah fah fah fah fah fah _laugh echoed in the heart of Dolog mountain.

\----------

Sea. Sun. Salt.

The Thousand Sunny sailed happily across the ocean. Fresh white clouds floated in front of an azure sky. Aboard the ship, the Straw Hat pirates carried on with their lives.

Nico Robin was below decks in her room. She sat in a chair upholstered in a deep purple hue, small carvings of lions adorning the bottom of each of its leg and the arms. Next to her was a small table with a red lacquer and leaf-like carvings ringing the edge of its surface.

She wore a long wool coat the color of a starless midnight sky, a slim bodice and tapered waist giving way to a flowing skirt. The edges of the elongated sleeves, the hood, and the tops of the shoulders were trimmed with light brown ruffle detailing. The buttons across her chest were palladium, the silvery white metal carved into small hourglass shapes. Her shoes were light brown boots that were so tall they disappeared beneath the drape of her skirt, with a slight heel in the back and lacing along the front.

Her right elbow rested on the table, her chin in her upturned palm. Her raven-dark hair waved gently as she swayed her head ever so slightly while reading the thick hardback book in her lap. Her left hand was really _three _left hands at the moment thanks to her Devil Fruit power – one held the page she was reading, another lay across the arm rest of the chair, while the last idly rubbed the sharp edge of the book’s corner protector.

Robin hummed a tune to herself. It was soft. Low. Happy.

~K~R~A~K~O~O~O~O~O~M~

A sound detonated within her mind, sending a jolt through her body. Her arms lashed out reflexively, knocking over the table and dropping the book with a loud _CRASH _and _THUD _respectively. Robin doubled over where she sat, her left arm returning to a single limb as she clenched her hand on the arm rest. She saw a single drop of blood leave her nose and fall on the dark material of her skirt.

There was the sound of a large mechanized shipwright trundling down the hall as Franky rushed to the door. He knocked in concern and asked, “Robin? Hey Robin you okay? I thought I heard a crash?” More knocking. “Robin? Answer me, are you okay? Is everything SUPER?”

Robin placed her finger to her nose. Crimson blood ran down to her palm, filling the grooves of her hand.

“Come in Franky,” she said calmly. The cyborg opened the door.

“I heard a noise. What happened?” he asked.

Nico Robin raised her head. Franky could see the fresh vermillion on her face and hand.

“Something terrible, Franky.”


	2. Signal Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin tells the Straw Hat pirates what happened and the crew decides what to do about Duponte.

“What?”

Luffy stared at Robin blankly. He sat cross-legged on the Thousand Sunny’s deck, the brim of his straw hat waving in the ocean breeze. He wore a loose-fitting red tank-top faded from too much sun and blue denim shorts with frayed edges worn from, well, having to keep up with Luffy. The only other items he wore were black flip flops and matching. black ribbons tied around his arms just below the shoulder but above his biceps – they fluttered in the breeze, moving where his expression did not.

“Of course you don’t understand,” Sanji grumbled in his captain’s direction. He took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke from his nostrils. The cook shook his golden hair and adjusted his posture. He wore a pale green polo shirt with both buttons open and a deep v-neck. His long white pants flared out around the ankles. The sun shone brilliantly off his polished shoes. When the wind ruffled his pants legs his socks were visible – they sported a pattern of tiny cartoon lobsters wearing chef hats. Sanji brought his hand up, still holding the cigarette between two fingers and extending his thumb to scratch his forehead, and said, “You _never_ understand these types of things.”

Zoro grumbled, “Watch it cook, that’s our captain you’re talking about.” He sat on a barrel across from Sanji, arms crossed over his chest. The swordsman was in a gray compression shirt with white trim – clearly fresh out of the gym – in baggy black athletic shorts that hung around his knees. “Show some respect. Luffy doesn’t _have_ to understand what’s going on, that’s a captain’s right.”

Sanji’s was dumbfounded. He shouted back, “What?! You can’t be serious!”

“Captain’s right.”

“That _isn’t a thing._”

“It is.”

“You moss for brains!”

Chopper_ clack-clack_ed his hooves together uneasily. “Why do they fight like that?” he asked timidly. He wore an enormously rotund purple hat with giant yellow embroidered letters that read FUN across the front. His t-shirt was the same dark purple with little yellow starburst patterns, and he had gray shorts and a belt with a comically oversized belt-buckle. Chopper lowered the volume of his voice as Sanji and Zoro grew louder.

“They’re always catty with each other,” Usopp said. He was crouched near Chopper, legs slightly apart with his elbows resting on his knees. His pants were light brown and covered in pockets and pouches. His shoes were a light tan and bulbous at the toe and done up with dark brown laces. He wore a tan t-shirt with a stylized rendition of the Merry Go as a space battleship like in the cartoons he and Chopper watched. His large head of dark hair shook when he nodded his head, just before placing a hand on his chin and smirking. “There’s a lot of tension there lately. It’s probably because they’re both trying to impress Nami and Robin. Tough guys, heh,” he mused, chuckling to himself.

Luffy blinked repeatedly. “I still don’t understand. Robin can you explain it again?” he asked. He practically had to shout to be heard over Sanji and Zoro’s arguing.

Robin uncrossed her arms and shifted her stance slightly. “Sure.”

Before she could begin explaining again Franky interrupted, “Hey, are you sure you should be up and about and doing all this after what happened? Maybe give Luffy the short version, or let Nami explain it, and go lie down.” He waved his hands towards the door leading back below decks, the chrome chain-link bracelets around his enormous wrists jangling. Franky had a blue speedo with a snowflake pattern on it and a sky blue ski jacket with white interior against his otherwise bare chest. The furry brown snow cap on his head had big floppy ear flaps with white fuzz on the underside. “It wouldn’t be SUPER for to push yourself and get hurt again.”

Robin replied with a curt, “No. I’m fine.” Her voice was all daggers. Franky dropped the subject - his concern remained.

“There isn’t much to explain,” Nami chimed in. She was looking out at the sea, her elbows resting on the railing, and listening to the conversation. She wore sneakers that were bright orange with white bottoms and laces, large SHOE WALRUS logos emblazoned on the outer-facing side of each. The toes of her sneakers _tap tap tapp_ed the Sunny’s deck, the confused shoe-wearing walruses on the sides of the shoes bouncing to a silent rhythm only she could hear. Nami’s jeans were worn but not tattered, with large sunflower prints stitched onto her pockets. She wore a white t-shirt covered in a print of orange, blue, and purple pinwheel designs. The rest of the Straw Haw pirates could not see her face, yet they could hear the seriousness in her voice. She said, “If Robin says it’s important then it’s important, it’s that simple.” The curls of her hair rolled like the waves of an orange ocean as the wind blew across the deck. “I say we go – do the specifics matter?”

“Especially if it’s a matter of life or death. Of course, I don’t have a life in the matter to begin with. Dead joke! Yo ho ho!” Brook shouted. Everyone looked at him like they wanted to kill him anyway. “Nami is correct of course. The specifics are important naturally, but more critical is that Robin believes it to be important. What better incentive is there?” he asked. The skeleton crossed his arms over his chest. Brook wore a mauve blazer with a white pocket handkerchief and white pants. His white shoes and mauve hair pick topped off the ensemble.

“I didn’t say we shouldn’t go,” said Luffy, his face taking on a slight frown. “I just don’t understand. This guy can do what again? He kills words?” The captain’s face was desperate confusion.

Robin calmly explained, “Not words. Not exactly. Alexander Duponte can erase concepts from existence.”

Sanji’s eyebrow coiled. “That sounds deadly. How can he do that?”

“It has to do with his Devil Fruit power. It has a strange potency.”

“How does he do it exactly?” Nami asked.

Robin crossed her arms, all six of them. “That is more complex. You see,” she began to say, drawing in a deep breath to explain it in full. Luffy’s eyes were already getting heavy. “Alexander Duponte can erase things.”

Chopper asked, “Like a pencil?” in a voice squeaking with child-like naiveté. 

“Not exactly. Duponte does not merely clear away objects, although he can do that to some degree. His power is more primal than that.”

“Can he disintegrate objects?” Usopp asked.

“Again, that is partly true.”

“With… _lasers?_” Chopper asked. His eyes glowed with excitement, and Uopp’s eyes picked up the infectious gleam as well. Franky seemed quietly hurt at the idea of lasers being appreciated other than his won.

“No, not lasers,” Robin chuckled. The doctor and the sniper looked deflated, while Franky’s pride was restored.

Robin reformed her hands into one and lifted her right arm up. She began to walk across the deck towards the mast, arm outstretched with her palm facing outwards, as if she were trying not to blunder into something in the dark. “He can erase objects in person. They are destroyed, completely turned to ash, all from a simple touch,” she said, her voice trailing off as she pressed the flat of her palm to the mast.

“That sounds scary,” Chopper remarked.

“It does,” Zoro said. He bared his teeth, a predator eager for the hunt.

“Can he do it to people too?” Luffy asked.

Robin arched her fingers and replied, “Yes. However, it takes time. It is not an effective combat maneuver, as Devil Fruit powers go. Duponte would be better served using a knife if he wanted to kill someone.”

Zoro’s face turned sour with disappointment. “What’s the big deal then? Doesn’t sound like much of a challenge at all,” he grumbled, flexing his biceps sulkily – if such a thing were possible.

“It is more than the physical destruction,” Robin replied. She turned back to the crew, brushing back a strand of her hair. “Duponte can destroy concepts. If he can get to the source of something, he can erase it from existence _everywhere_. Complete obliteration,” she breathed. The Buster call at Ohara loomed in her memory. The rain of the cannonballs. The burning of the tree. Loss. Irreparable loss. “Duponte can wipe ideas from existence. Like they never existed.”

A silence as deep and dark as the sea fell across the Straw Hat pirates.

“Crap,” Sanji muttered, piercing the silence. He drew in a long puff of smoke, exhaled the comforting ash. “How do we fight that?”

“Can we fight that?” Usopp asked.

Franky balled up his fists and placed them on his hips, puffing out his barrel chest. “We can, and we’ll win!” The cyborg vented white hot steam from both nostrils. “SUPERRRR!” he roared, his boisterous defiance reassuring the other Straw Hats.

Even Robin’s lips curled into a smile at Franky’s antics. “We can fight it,” she said, her eyes lingering on the brawny cyborg for a moment. She turned back to glance over the others. “The process is draining for him, and the aftereffects can take time to shake off. Not unlike when Luffy uses Gear Three form.”

Luffy nodded vigorously, his rubbery neck _sproi-yoi-yoinging _his head comically.

Nami chimed in, “How do we find Duptone?” Her natural inclination as navigator made her consider practical questions, unlike how most of the others’ brains operated. “It’s a big ocean after all.”

Robin smirked at her crewmate. She was always appreciative of another keen mind aboard the Thousand Sunny; on the whole the Straw Hat Pirates were rich in _berries _but poor in _brain cells. _“In this instance we have a rare insight. I would never have known he was operating again had it not been the…” she paused for a moment to weigh her words appropriately “.._feedback _I received when he used his power last. Duponte is using his power to erase tetraglyphs.”

“Tetraglyphs?”

“An ancient dead language, known only in its written form. It is linguistically related to the poneglyphs – not quite so old, not quite so important. But it is important nonetheless, and I acquired a fluency of it in my… studies.” Robin left the last word unexplained. “Since I felt a tremor from Duponte’s erasure of a tetraglyph, that must mean he did more than erase a single representation of the letter – he must have found its source, its birthplace.”

Usopp blinked repeatedly. “Birthplace? Where is a language, uh, _born_?”

“Yeah, Miss Robin! Where?” asked Chopper, his eyebrows scrunched up in eagerness. The pen clenched in his tiny hoof was scribbling across his notebook so fast the heat friction made a wispy trail of smoke rise from the page. 

The former Baroque Works operative and international assassin could not help but smile at the miniature reindeer and his studious passion. “There is the catch. I only know the name of the island, but I do not know where it can be found. The tetraglyphs were always said to reside on the Dologos Islands, but to _my_ knowledge,” her emphasis underscored just how much knowledge she was talking about, “they have never been found. The legend of Dologos has been an old tale for centuries, a yarn spun by pirates too deep in their cups or starry eyed village elders with a penchant for rambling. It would appear Duponte has done what many said was impossible.”

Luffy’s intesnity was suddenly up. “If he can do it, _we_ can do it!” he practically shouted. The rubbery captain beamed a smile, baring his teeth at the prospect of a new challenge. “We’ll find the Dogoload-“

“Dologos,” Robin corrected.

“-Doglodode islands too, and we’ll teach this guy what happens when you… erase words, or whatever!” Luffy managed. His confidence far outweighed his understanding, but it was infectious nonetheless. The Straw Hats were drawn to their leader’s boundless desire to right wrongs. Moths to flame.

“Then let’s get going!” Chopper squealed, clenching his hooves in anticipation. “Except… we still don’t know where to go,” his voice trailed off as he scratched his chin.

Robin opened her arms in a slight shrug. “We do not have any leads on the Dologos Islands themselves. Of course, there is a place we could go to try and find anyone who does know.”

“Where?”

Her face became clouded, her tone ominous. “Port Octone.”

Franky nearly jumped out of his speedo. “Port Octone?!” he shouted incredulously. The cyborg reached up to press his nose, transforming his blue hair into the shape of a giant exclamation point. “Robin, that place is SUPERRRRR… dangerous! Is it really worth the risk?”

“There is no other way.”

They locked eyes for a moment. He thought about the danger she would be in if they went to Port Octone. The danger they would all be in. Then again he could not shake away the memory of her before, struck by the tremors of Duponte’s Devil Fruit power.

Franky didn’t want to see Robin get hurt.

Robin didn’t waver.

“If we have to go, we have to go,” Usopp said solemnly. He shrugged and it made the brim of his floppy hat waggle.

“Port Oclone…” Nami whispered. Arlong had spoken about it at length. She remembered one of his (many) overbearing demands was for her to chart the safest route to Port Oclone. _“I don’t care how far away it is, how many grand Lines or Red Lines or any kind of lines you have to cross! Find the best route there Little Orange, because one day I’ll need to expand my crew and Port Oclone is chock full of ruthless cutthroats.” _She did not like reflecting on those times. Ever. She did not like the way his mocking nickname _Little Orange _echoed in her memories. It had stung then. It made the tattoo on her shoulder sting now. The thought of journeying to Port Oclone, a place Arlong had wanted to go for recruitment, was not a comforting one. Was she afraid?

Nami’s eyes fell on the orange tree. Lush green leaves basked in the sunlight, rustled by the gentle sea breeze which made a quiet sound all its own. It was as if the tree itself was adding its voice to their discussion, a soft murmuring voice that spoke in a wordless tongue. Gleaming ripe oranges waved back and forth in soft motions.

Nami was not afraid. She had her crew. They were doofuses, sure. At times too reckless to be called a crew at all. But they were strong and dedicated. They weren’t using each other, not like Arlong and his gang had been. They supported each other fully and completely.

They had her, too. They relied on her navigation, her intelligence, her quick-thinking. How many scrapes had they gotten out of because of her keen mind and natural survival instinct? More than she could count (which meant it was more than these goofballs could count, too).

She studied them for a moment. Bickering, laughing, planning, rough-housing. The Straw Hats were a family. Her family. They would never let each other down, and she would not let them down.

Nami was not afraid. Even if her past loomed over her sometimes, that was okay. Nami took in a deep breath an exhaled slowly. _I’m aware of my past, not shackled by it. What happened to me was awful, but I grew from it. Became stronger and more capable. It didn’t have to happen, and I wish it hadn’t, but I turned it to my advantage. I always do. That’s my strength._

She tapped her sneaker against the deck twice and allowed herself a smile.

“Port Oclone!” Nami shouted with a joyous boom. The whole crew turned to look at her. Nami’s orange hair waved dramatically behind her as she brought up her fist and clenched it tight. “Let’s chart a course to that place and show them what it means to come face to face with the Straw Hat pirates,” she declared, punctuating her confident battle cry with a wink.

Luffy. Zoro. Sanji. Chopper. Franky. Brook. They all grinned and nodded in determination.

Robin smiled most of all. _In a way, she might be the strongest of us all, _Robin mused. to herself.

“Nami!” Luffy beamed, jumping up on top of a barrel and lifting his arms in a victorious “v” shape with his fists balled tightly. “Chart us a course for Port Oclone!!!!”

The Straw Hat Pirates erupted into a unified cheer.

The course was set.

They set sail.


	3. Den of Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Straw Hats arrive in Port Oclone and break into groups in search of anyone with information about the Dologos Islands.

Port Oclone was, in a word, _dangerous_.

Dozens of vessels were tied off at the docks and hundreds of sailors from countless crews milled about on the docks and shore. Crates full of newly-seized booty were unloaded from freshly arrived vessels to be sold for exorbitant prices at the markets and bazaars further inland, while stacks of fresh supplies were brought aboard other ships before setting out to sea again. Waves of sound issued from the docks – bosuns barked orders at their crews, off-duty crews sang drunken songs, and shipwrights toiled to make repairs after their journeys.

The Thousand Sunny pulled up alongside one of the slips and began to disembark. Chopper, Franky, and Usopp were tying off lines in short order while Brook was extended the boarding ramp to the weathered wooden dock. Luffy, Robin, Nami, Zoro, and Sanji exited the ship, with Brook following down the ramp right behind them.

“Okay cap-ee-tan, what’s the pla-ee-an?” Usopp asked in a silly voice.

Luffy clenched his fist, “We find somebody who knows where Dologos is.”

“We need more to go off of than that,” Nami replied.

Franky nodded his pompadour towards the Thousand Sunny and added, “We need someone to watch the ship too.”

“Hmmm,” Luffy pondered, reaching up and twisting a finger against the side of his temple. “We… should… hmm…” he mumbled to himself.

“Remember where we need to go,” Robin said, offering a lifeline to her rubbery captain’s rapidly overheating brain. “Our best bet in order to find a guide to the Dologos Islands would be to ask around where the most experienced and well-travelled sailors will be. Port Oclone is crawling with seafarers who have travelled the world, yet the Dologos Islands are still only known to a select few.”

Nami crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s a sobering thought…”

Robin nodded before continuing. “We’ll need one group to head down Isper Avenue to check out _Maclan’s Barrel _– a notorious pirate tavern near the center of the island.”

“_Maclan’s Barrel_?!” Usopp squeaked. Fear shot down his spine, a current of Strategic Discretion bidding his legs to take him back to the ship. “Even I’ve h-h-heard of that place, it’s supposed to be incredibly dangerous.”

“There’s an old rumor that if you can brave the walk down Isper Ave and survive long enough at Maclan’s to actually get to the bar and order a drink, then the Navy will put a 100 million berry bounty on your head just to be safe.” Robin paused to let them absorb the severity of the situation.

“Our second group will need to visit _Rear Admiraltea_. It is a tea house with a vastly different clientele but no less danger. It’s a gathering place for former Navy personnel, most of them dishonorably discharged, or “retired” from service after performing certain… missions, asked of them.” Her voice did not tremble, but the implication was clear. If what they did was so hideous, so vile, that the World Government could no longer tolerate them openly serving in the Navy, just what had they done? Even those who carried out the Buster Call which had destroyed Ohara and sent Robin’s life spiraling were allowed to continue serving. How much worse could it get…?

Franky pressed his nose, making a loud _cha-click! _noise as his blue hair reformed into an odd pair of double slicked-back mohawks. “I can handle _Maclan’s Barrel_.” He grinned eagerly and made a giant thumbs up with his oversized hand. “I know how guys like that operate. Who’s coming with me?”

A wicked smile crossed the navigator’s face. “I’m in,” Nami said, her voice full of determination. Her eyes gleamed like two coins yet to be counted.

Franky pounded his fist into his other palm, “Super!”

“Me too,” Sanji added, tossing his hair to one side to try and catch a similar light. “I can’t let Nami-swan face a gang of brutes like that unaccompanied.”

Nami rolled her eyes with painstaking slowness.

Franky’s “Super…?” had a perplexed _Uh, I’ll be there too who said she was unattended? And she clearly can handle herself _tone. But he did not refuse the cook’s help.

“And I’ll lead the other group to _Admiraltea_,” Robin said. Franky nodded and smiled but his expression was torn – glad that the other group would be led by Robin, but concerned with her heading off the opposite direction. Being that far away from her, if things should go awry…

“I’m going with you Robin!” Luffy beamed. No matter the situation, the whole crew could not help but smile along with him. Luffy’s boundless joy was infectious.

“Of course Luffy,” Robin replied. Her use of his actual name rather than role as captain was probably lost on him, but was her at her most affectionate.

“I shall accompany you as well!” Brook shouted. “Though I hope we do not encounter any rib-ald humor. Rib joke!” Brook was amused, and for once he got a few giggles from the others. Chopper and Usopp in particular could not contain their laughter. Perhaps everyone needed the pressure release after the tension of coming to Port Oclone and Robin’s description of their impending dangers.

“I’ll stay behind and work on minor repairs to the Sunny,” Usopp said, crossing his arms and nodding vigorously. Each head bob flung tears from his fits of laughter moments before.

“Me too!” Chopper said, his eyes glowing bright. “I haven’t read all of my new medical textbooks yet, and I can keep the transponder snail close by in case anyone needs help.” Chopper’s concern for others brought the biggest smile to Robin’s face.

Zoro shrugged. “Guess I’ll stay behind with them on the Thousand Sunny.”

“Don’t get lost on your way back,” Sanji sniped.

Zoro bared a fang at the cook, who merely turned away without another word.

“In any case, it would be good to have someone watching the ship in case any of the locals get… curious.” Zoro scanned the crowds surrounding them on the docks, eyeing them up for potential threats.

“It’s settled then,” Robin said. “Luffy, Brook, and myself will go to the _Rear Admiraltea_. Franky, Sanji, and Nami will go to _Maclan’s Barrel_. Zoro, Chopper, and Usopp will remain here on the Thousand Sunny. We find someone who knows of a possible route to the Dologos Islands and check in via transponder as soon as we are able.”

The other Straw Hats nodded affirmatively at her summary.

“Then let’s go.”

\----------

Danger around every corner, trouble on every block.

Walking Isper Avenue was like taking a tour through a living rogue’s gallery. Cutthroats, thieves, vagabonds, outlaws, ne’er-do-wells, and scoundrels, as far as the eye could see. The press of the crowd would have been enough to intimidate even the most foolhardy pirates, and the press of bodies would have made anyone uneasy.

Franky suffered from no such fear.

The broad-shouldered cyborg acted as a wedge, his imposing body clearing a path through the crowd. Franky beamed and shouted out the occasional “SUPER!” at any pirate who tried to protest his bulldozing. Sanji and Nami followed along behind him in the clear path formed by his wake.

“This area is crawling with pirates,” Nami remarked, her eyes scanning the crowd for potential threats – and potential marks. “We need to be careful.”

Sanji walked with his hands in his pockets, back hunched slightly. “They need to be careful. I’m not in the mood for getting waylaid today,” he said, a low growl in his voice and a cruel glint in his eyes.

“Hey hey hey, there’s no need to go spoiling for a fight, Sanji,” Franky said as his elbow relieved another pirate’s face of a few teeth. “ There will be plenty of trouble for us once we get there. Patience-!” h shouted as he shot an arm straight up in the air to point at the heavens, inadvertently upper-cutting another pirate with his metallic fist. “-is a virtue!” Franky brought his arm down and his elbow _KONK_ed another pirate on the head.

The crowd of cutthroats was so thick with bodies it was hard to register the trio of Straw Hats among the rest of the pirates on Isper Avenue. There were hawkers selling their wares, auction blocks for stolen goods, throngs gathered around outlandish street performers, and political dissidents holding rallies on every corner. Even if the trio was barreling through and causing a ruckus, what were three more weirdos among the rest? Even if one was an enormous cyborg.

One location that did stand out was their destination: _Maclan’s Barrel. _Calling it a bar was too small a word, no different than calling a tsunami a wave. Three stories and change (there used to be a fourth story but how that got blown to pieces and ended up a roost for gulls and pelicans from around the island was a story in and of itself), _Maclan’s_ _Barrel _towered over the surrounding businesses. Even its walls were not straight – they curved and bent at cartoonish proportions, with mismatched windows unevenly spaced around the exterior walls, strange balconies that wrapped around twice only to end suddenly, and crimson splotches where the staff had tossed red wine against the wall to cover up all the blood.

If the bizarre architecture was not enough to scream ‘STAY AWAY’ then the clientele sealed the deal. Dozens of pirates from various crews gathered outside the bar, trading exaggerated stories and boasting of future exploits as they sloshed their drinks. There was a band playing inside – maybe a trumpet or two and an accordion, plus a leader singer – but it was impossible to tell what they were performing over the random shouts as fights broke out between drunken patrons and were inevitably followed by broken tables and shattered windows. Shot, chaser. Even the wait staff was intimidating - they were rugged, ex-buccaneer types themselves, with sleeves of tattoos and festooned with jewelry stolen off ungrateful customers. The wait staff had a reputation for being so attentive to customers that they would go so far as to tip patrons, but that was somewhat misleading – mostly they shoved the tips of rusty blades into the guts of any pirate who tried to avoid paying their tab.

Nami’s natural survival instincts kicked the moment they got close to the bar. Her head and neck remained motionless as her eyes scanned the area rapidly, anticipating threats from every direction, assessing the potential actions of those nearby.

“Don’t worry Nami-swan,” Sanji said. He tossed out his cigarette and ground it into the dirt with his heel. “As your knight, I swear to keep you safe from these scoundrels.”

Nami’s expression did not change. “I’m not worried,” she stated truthfully, “I’m used to swimming with sharks.”

Franky slammed one fist into the open palm of his other hand – _KWANG _– and exhaled smoke from his nostrils like a giant mechanical bull. “We head straight up to the bar and ask point blank if anyone knows how to get to the Dologos Islands. We do not need to waste any time,” he left out _because every moment we waste is another moment where Robin is in danger, _“because we risk getting into a confrontation and fighting our way out will slow us down. Keep your cool and stay focused, do not get distracted.”

Sanji and Nami nodded in unison. The trio walked through the door.

…and half a second in Franky got hit with an errant bottle. It shattered against his metallic skull and his blue hair was soaked.

“OKAY WHO THEW THAT?! WHO WANTS TO GET SUPERRRRRR POUNDED INTO THE FLOORBOARDS?!” he shouted, his face turning as hot iron red and his ears emitting gouts of steam complete with tea-kettle whistling. Sanji and Nami grabbed his wrists and dragged him towards the bar area as raucous drunken laughter erupted and more battles sailed past.

_Stomp Clomp Stomp Clomp _

Franky trudged the last few steps to the bar counter and plopped down in one of the empty stools (of course the sheer breadth of his shoulders made it impossible for Nami and Sanji to sit in the two empty stools on either side of him – they leaned against the bar instead). This put them precariously close to pirates from other crews, but they did not appear to be much of a threat – their faces were leaking drool on the countertop from being too deep in their cups, and their backs were leaking blood on the floor from being stabbed a few dozen times too many. Other patrons were patiently waiting for the bar staff to mop up the blood and move the bodies – they didn’t dare try and rush them since the mop handles ended in serrated sword blades.

As the soda-powered cyborg grabbed fistfuls of rags to try and dry his face off, Nami kept an eye out on their backsides to make sure no one tried anything funny. She let the climate baton on her hip waggle menacingly in case anyone’s eyes lingered on them too long, here eyebrows explaining to any onlookers _Keep it up and you’ll find out what this thing can do. _

Sanji _click_ed his tongue once to get the attention of the staff. “Can we get a couple of drinks over here?”

“SURE!” boomed a voice as loud as a thunderclap. “What’ll you three be having?”

The three Straw Hat pirates found themselves staring up at an enormous woman. She was nearly nine feet tall with dark skin and long curly hair that she had up in a ponytail. She wore rugged purple overalls with tiny frothy beer mug pins in place of buttons. Beneath the overalls she wore a red plaid shirt with the sleeves cut off, Her muscular arms bore dozens of tattoos ranging names in flowery print that had been crossed out like <strike>Janissa</strike> and <strike>Mathias</strike>. to off-color statements about the World Government that would make most pirates blush. Her smile was inviting – it seemed to serve equally well as a _Hi Welcome How May I Help You _signal that a bartender would give new patrons and as a _My Aren’t You Tasty Little Morsels _signal that a shark would show before eating smaller fish. Emblazoned across the front of her overalls was an enormous patch with block letters that simply read MACLAN.

“Spiced rum?” Sanji asked.

“You’ll have to be more specific, hon,” she replied.

“_Blue Bastion _if you’ve got it.”

“Coming right up.” She stomped her large foot on the floorboard and it sent a tremor through the bar area. Behind her a single glass wobbled on the shelf then tumbled down end over end. Maclan adjusted a hair to her right and let the glass fall flat on her shoulder. Her skin appeared to take on a glossy sheen and the glass slid gently down the curve of her arm to come to a stop right in front of Sanji. She raised her hand over the glass and bent her index finger so that it pointed downwards. A pressurized stream of liquid erupted from her bent knuckle, pouring into the glass with precisely the right pressure to make it fill with dark liquid at a satisfying pace. The sloshing liquid came to nearly full and she bent her finger back, stopping the spray immediately. Sanji stared blankly at the glass of rum in front of him.

“H-how did you-?”

“Drink-Drink Fruit, hon. If I’ve tasted it, I can make it. Now stop with the gawking and start with the paying, 600 berries.”

Sanji began to rifle in his pockets for money as Maclan leaned over and took Franky and Nami’s drink orders, filling them with equal practiced ease and Devil Fruit use.

“You aren’t my regulars, where are you three from?” she asked once they were all served, leaning over to gather their money with one hand and refill another patron’s drink with the other.

“Just passing through,” Sanji replied, trying not to draw any undue attention to himself.

“Better than passing on, though that’s most of what you’ll find if you stay here too long. Of course, not a lot of crews come here just for the supplies – you can get overpriced stale food in plenty of safer ports. What brings you to Port Oclone?”

Franky lifted the fresh soda to his lips and chugged it in one gulp then wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm. “Information. We need to find a way to get to the Dologos Islands.”

“_Dologos?_” she remarked, one eyebrow raising curiously.

“You know it?” Franky asked.

“Of it, yes, but not how to get there,” she replied. “It’s got a bit of a reputation.”

Nami interjected, “Can you point us in the direction of anyone who knows it by more than just reputation?”

Maclan smiled and shrugged her shoulder in a resigned fashion. “I can, but I’m not sure you’re going to want to talk to him.”

“We do, believe me,” Nami said.

Maclan stretched out her one hand that was _not _currently pouring a fresh drink and pointed at the second floor seating area. The second and third floors could clearly be seen from the ground level as there was no ceiling for the first, and both of the other floors were “rings” of tables and railings that overlooked everything below. Her finger pointed at a lone seated figure in a floor-length shadow-blue coat.

“That man right there – Galmoore the Last.”


	4. Last of the Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Straw Hats meet up with potential guides to Dologos.

The trio of Straw Hat pirates climbed the creaky stairs to the second level of _Maclan’s Barrel_, each of Franky’s footfalls testing the structural integrity of the alcohol-soaked wood. They strode up to Galmoore’s table without a word. Galmoore did not move, sitting perfectly still with arms crossed and head bowed with a tricorn hat covering any view of the face.

Tension hung in the space between them.

Sanji lit a fresh cigarette and sparked the conversation with a simple, “You Galmoore?”

No response.

The cook’s eyebrows coiled with emotive tension. “Hey, I asked you a question. Are you Galmoore?”

Still no response.

“Look buddy, we haven’t got all day. Are you the Lost guy or what?”

A slight tilt of the head. Sanji met Galmoore’s eyes.

“I’m not the Lost _guy_, no. But I am Galmoore – and you’re interrupting my drink,” she said. Her skin was pale, wrinkled at the corners of her red eyes from years at sea. Her brown hair looked like old rope – worn but firm. A single jeweled earring hung form her left ear. Around her neck were row upon row of tattoos depicting different jolly rogers with black X’s crossing them out, like the rings of a great macabre oak tree.

Galmoore _tsk_ed her tongue against her teeth and added, “Give me one good reason why I should waste my-“ she paused to leisurely raise her glass and take a slow drink from it before placing it back on the table, “-valuable time on your problems.”

Sanji’s face turned seven shades of red. He opened his mouth to say something and all that came out was the sound of a tea kettle steaming over.

Nami raised a hand to the cook and tilted her head a few degrees to one side before responding, “Because you’re bored.”

Galmoore paused.

“You’re bored out of your mind,” Nami said. A mischievous smile rose at the corner of her mouth like a predator’s dorsal fin poking up above the water’s surface. “You’re tired of sitting here wasting away in this hole in the wall tavern when you could be out making your name known again. I think you’d rather sit here and rot than get caught up with a worthless crew, which is probably why you’re still sitting here.”

She leaned towards Galmoore and placed a balled up fist firmly against the table. “The Straw Hat pirates are worth getting out of your chair for.”

Galmoore considered Nami. Their eyes met – burning red faced against blazing orange. Nami did not blink.

“Bwu-GAHA-GAHA-GAHA-GAHA!”

Galmoore roared with laughter, leaning back on the rear legs of her chair. She stamped the heels of her boots against the floorboards loud enough it was audible to the fighting patrons on the first floor.

“You’ve got gumption,” she said at last, each ‘g’ sound laced with the last tremors of her laugh. “I like that, reminds me of a privateer I knew once upon a time…” her voice trailed off. She shook her head to cast the memory back to the depths whence it came. “Pull up a chair moxie,” she said to Nami, then looked to Franky and Sanji. “Big fellah can stay if you can find him a chair big enough. The wiry one though…” she looked Sanji up and down, “eh, only if he can keep his little temper in check.”

Sanji was at a full boil. “Why y-“ he began to say, but Franky clasped an enormous metal hand over the top of his head to _pat pat _him twice.

“Blackfoot Sanji is a notorious gentleman,” Franky said. He tried to put as much emphasis as he could on gentleman. “He can behave.”

Franky pulled over two chairs and the pair of them sat down alongside Nami.

Galmoore asked, “So what’s all this about making my name known among the seas again? You got a job lined up that you need me for?”

The Straw Hat trio exchanged glances. “Not exactly,” Franky said. “You se-“ he stopped talking partway through his sentence as the chair beneath him exploded beneath his massive bulk. Wooden pieces flew in all directions and the cyborg found himself sitting on the floor. “Hm, shoddy craftsmanship…” he mumbled to himself. Because he was already so tall, rather than grab a new chair he transformed his legs into tank treads and “sat” with a grin on his face.

Sanji picked up where Franky left off, “We need help finding a place that no one else has ever been. Except you, they say.”

Galmoore’s interest piqued and one eyebrow peaked. “You don’t mean…”

“The Dologos Islands,” Nami finished.

\----------

“This place looks s-c-a-r-y.”

Chopper clasped his hooves together. His tiny body shook with fright, hooves clacking in nervous unison with his teeth. “Is this place really going to be full of… of… navy admirals?”

Brook’s skeletal face, incapable of expressing any emotion, remained fixed looking ahead as he replied, “That is a possibility.”

Chopper turned to him, “D-d-d-do you th-think we c-can handle th-th-them?”

Brook, ever the literalist, answered without hesitation, “I’ve played tougher crowds than this.”

Robin adjusted her sunglasses and calmly stated, “Don’t be nervous Chopper. You - are - strong.” Her last three words were perfectly spaced to instill confidence in the smallest Straw Hat.

Chopper scrunched up his face and became serious. “Right!”

_Rear Admiraltea _loomed before them. In stark contrast to the crowded Isper Avenue leading up to _Maclan’s Barrel _and its outlandish architecture, _Rear Admiraltea _was quietly imposing. The streets were completely clear – it was as if the entire block surrounding it was deserted. Physically it was all clean lines and smooth curves in bold blue and white, a regulation structure in the heart of a mismatched world. An honest onlooker might think a giant picked the building up and dropped it here absent-mindedly; “out of place” hardly fit the bill.

It was precisely this aura that made Robin, Brook, and Chopper hesitate a handful of yards from the entrance. They were used to pirate dens and buccaneer bars, that chaos was comforting. In fact, their run-ins with the navy had been similar if not identical – when the navy arrived it was not uncommon for them to end up in a life or death struggle, or escape under heavy barrage. As a response, silence was new territory from them.

Calm had become eerie.

“No sense in waiting out here in the hot sun all day. I can work on my tan another day! That’s funny beca-“ Brook started to explain but Robin shushed him with a sideways glance.

“Hm, right. In we go!” he said. They strode towards the door.

When Brook opened it he was met with a pleasant _ringa-ting-ting _from a bell above the doorway. The scent of freshly brewed tea floated about the tidy tables and neatly arranged seating. Natural light illuminated the room _just _so without letting in the overbearing heat of the afternoon. Well-dressed wait-staff turned in clockwork unison to greet the new patrons with smiling faces and kind greetings like “Hello!” “Welcome!” and “Good day!”

Also of note: the two dozen battle-scarred former navy officers armed to the teeth and scowling from around the room. Robin, Brook, and Chopper suddenly knew what it was like to stare down the barrels of a battleship broadside from close range.

“Yo ho ho! Good afternoon everyone,” Brook said cheerfully. “May we have a seat and enjoy some of your tea?”

“Sure, right this way,” said a waiter. He directed them to a nearby table.

Every step they took was under the searing gaze of many eyes. They sat quietly, save for Chopper’s miniature _~gulp~_. The waiter did his best not to remain calm with the tension so thick.

“What can I get started for you?” he asked.

Before they could reply a figure rose from a nearby table and plodded over, stopping just behind the waiter. The figure was well over ten feet tall, half as broad from shoulder to shoulder, with their face scrunched up like a clenched fist. An officer’s jacket hung from their shoulders, the epaulettes torn off long ago and the unit insignia covered by inky black splatters of paint. Each exhalation of their breath was that of a bull about to charge.

“Move,” the figure said, all gruff authority.

“_Ny-EEP,”_ the waiter squeaked. He dashed across the room with a swiftness.

Chopper’s eyes grew big and wobbly.

“You ex-navy?” the figure asked in a tone that said they already knew the answer to the question.

Robin reached one hand up to adjust her shades – a light press of her index finger against the frames – though her expression did not change. “No,” she replied. A single shot across the bow.

A wave of a snarl arose on the figure’s face, teeth bared like the foaming crest. “Then you should leave. Now.”

“And if we refuse?”

The figure raised an arm so that their sleeve fell, revealing rippling muscles and bulging veins. Across their bicep was a tattoo of a cartoonish lion fish with fins ending in gleaming spikes. Guttural growls turned to a booming voice that barked, “You’ll face the wrath of Segund the Lion Blade, former admiral and commander of the Fearsome Flotilla!” Each new word began with a spray of spittle, and by the end of his proclamation his fist was clenched tight enough that his fingernails were digging into his palms.

Chopper was petrified. His fur might have turned a ghostly white if the roaring former admiral had gone on any longer. Brook and Robin sat motionless and unperturbed.

“Segund the Lion Blade? Oh that does sound terribly impressive,” Brook commented. He looked to Robin saying, “Don’t you think so Robin? One cannot be imposing without a proper title. This gentleman isn’t just _lion _about when it comes to branding, yo ho ho!”

Segund’s face turned red, magma about to burst forth and become lava. “How _dare _you treat me with such petty niceties, I’ll have yo-“

Robin cut him off. “Mister Lion Blade, is it? My companion meant no disrespect.”

“I don’t care what he _meant, _I-“

“I was not done speaking.” Robin’s voice never raised above the calm poise she always maintained, which made her all the more imposing.

Segund flinched in quiet astonishment.

“My companion meant no disrespect, and you are right we are not ex-navy. I am to understand that is this establishment’s policy for service, yes?”

Segund was caught off-guard by her matter of fact questioning. He mumbled back, “Not official _policy _of sorts, but…”

“Then perhaps it should be posted, to avoid any unnecessary,” she paused and flexed the fingers of one hand in a rhythmic motion as though playing an unseen piano, “-trouble.”

There had been a sense of danger in the room before, but now it shifted imperceptibly. The mood went from _three interlopers surrounded and alone _to _three foxes in the hen-house _in the space of one sentence. Segund’s rear heel scooted carefully away from the table without his conscious knowledge.

“It would be prudent for me to clarify our bona fides and our intentions too,” she continued. The former assassin crossed one leg over the other before continuing, “I may not be ex-navy, but does ‘former Cipher Pol 9 operative’ carry a similar weight?”

The mention of Cipher Pol 9 washed over those assembled like a dark cloud. All the little candles of conversation in the room had been blown out by the sudden gust of chill wind. All eyes were on her. Ears strained to hear better over the sound of their own rapidly beating hearts.

“C… CP-9, huh?” Segund replied, his sentence punctuated with an audible gulp.

“Yes.”

He lowered his arm. “Not quite the same, but close enough I suppose…”

“Good. We won’t be here long enough to test the limits of that supposition,” she said.

Chopper and Brook exchanged glances that said _Did She Turn This Around On Them? _then turned back to watch her work the room.

“We are for only a moment. Ordering a drink was a formality – you can keep your tea,” she said calmly, though Chopper’s slightly deflated expression said he had been looking forward to a hot cocoa. “We are after something much more important – information.”

Segund was fully on the defensive now, Robin was leading the dance. “What kind of information?”

“About a place – the Dologos Islands.”

Another gust of unease blew through the room. It was a haunted name, a boogeyman meant to scare sailors into staying the course.

“You can’t be serious.”

Robin’s lack of reply told just how serious she was.

“The Dologos Islands are just myth, old fishwives’ tales. Anyone who tells you they’re real is blowing smoke up your-“

“I am not here to debate their existence. I came to learn how to find them and what dangers may await me there – any other response is a waste of both our times.”

Segund chuckled darkly. He ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “I can’t believe it, you really think they’re real.”

“They are real,” said another voice.

All eyes turned to the new speaker.

“I know,” the voice said with a malicious grin where every other tooth was either missing or a replacement made of gold. “Because I’ve been there.” The speaker stood and crossed the room.

It was clear who he was from the moment he came into view. Eight foot tall with a posture as tall and sure as a mizenmast, garish long red hair that fell to his shoulders and an equally outlandish mustache that curled mischievously at both ends. His old navy jacket was a simple olive drab green and trimmed in faded yellow with its old insignia ripped off leaving only outlines of their imprints behind. A black undershirt and long green pants with strong pleats covered his aged but still fit frame. There was a jingle like spurs when he walked, but his boots bore none to speak of. His eyes were blue like the depths of the ocean, the kind that fill a man’s vision when he drowns and falls deep enough that the light no longer reaches.

Robin’s eyes took the measure of him as he pushed Segund aside to be forgotten almost instantly. “And you are?”

The red-haired man scratched the small patch of red hair at the end of his chin. “Borodino,” he said, “Borodino the Besieger.”

Robin’s eyes widened slightly. “I have heard of you. Amphibious operations, correct?”

“That’s me. As good on a ship’s deck as a beachhead. I’ve stormed more shores than I can recount.”

“Can you remember the shores of Dologos?”

“Like it was yesterday.”

There was the beginnings of side conversations again. Murmurs and whispers and hearsay abounded. The tension was easing, shifting into a new feeling altogether. Dologos had always been a myth, one of many islands made up by bored sailors on too-long journeys. Now the newcomer and Borodino were talking about it earnestly – and he claimed to have visited it once before? Even a room of cowed aging admirals could not keep silent when suddenly there was _that _much to talk about.

“Could you tell us the way?”

“No, not exactly,” he replied.

Robin’s expression did not change. “It is a simple yes or no question.”

Borodino shook his head and replied, “It isn’t - of that I can assure you. Dologos is a… strange place. Getting there is no simple task.”

“Why would it be different than any other island?”

“Let’s slow down for a second – what’s in it for me if I help you three?”

Brook raised a skeletal hand, palm upward. “The thrill of adventure?” he offered.

“I’ve had my share of adventures already, it will take more than that.”

“Sorry if my suggestion was half-hearted. I don’t have a heart at all, you see!” he yo-ho-ho’d himself silly and out of the conversation.

Robin leaned forward onto both of her elbows and asked, “If you cannot tell us how to get to Dologos, why would we want you anyway? Why did you come over to offer your services if you have nothing to offer?”

Borodino grinned, running his fingers over one side of his curly mustache. “Because getting there is only part of the journey. Dologos is protected by more than a lack of maps and charts. I may not be able to get you to the island, but once you get there you’ll need me to get through its _un_natural defenses.”

Robin interlaced her gloved fingers and rested her chin atop them. “What would you charge us for your services?”

“A 40% cut of any loot there and back is a good start.”

“You want nearly half the take?”

“There’s no take if you don’t bring me along.”

“What if there’s no treasure to be found?”

“We’ll call it an even 2 million berries in that case. A man’s got to have some spare cash around for drinks, you know.”

Another pause in the conversation. As robin deliberated, Chopper looked back and forth between her and Borodino. His brow was furrowed in concern. _Can we really trust this guy…? _he wondered.

Robin looked into Borodino’s eyes. She had been on the run most of her life, living in the dark places, slipping through the cracks. She had to learn how to work people to her advantage – how to size them up at a glance, how to tell their mood in a heartbeat. When every person between you met could be a potential bounty hunter or navy operative you had to operate differently. Robin had to know which people in front of her were sinking stones or stepping stones.

Borodino’s eyes told her he was the latter. Whether or not he was telling the whole truth, he certainly was not bluffing.

“All right. 40% cut of the loot or 2 million berries. You help us make landfall on Dologos and make it back out too,” she said. “That is the deal.” There was no argument left to be had.

Borodino beamed, placing balled up fists on his hips and puffing out his chest. “Ha ha ha! All right! When do we leave?”

She stood, Brook and Chopper doing likewise. “Now.”


End file.
